


Turn Up the Heat

by blakefancier



Series: For Your Entertainment [1]
Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard's done his best to distance himself from Elite society and all the trappings that entails and he's done a pretty good job too. But the heart wants what it wants, and it's not so easy to hide your true desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Up the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Dom!Steve/sub!Howard series. I don't even know why I can't write a simple little story anymore. Pssh!

Howard meets Anna at a party thrown by one of his father's military friends. She's everything he's supposed to want: beautiful, curvy, and oh so pliant. His father smiles as they dance.

He asks her out on date and she accepts. She doesn't know a damn thing about Elite society. She doesn't know anything about doms or subs or switches and it's almost a relief. She doesn't expect anything from him.

Except when she does.

"Why don't we rent a hotel room," she says, and it's like the floor's gone out from under him.

He should have known, should have guessed; it's their fifth date. He smiles at her and brushes the hair from her face. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow." It's not a lie.

She gives him a wicked smile. "We don't have to stay all night."

If he says no, he knows it'll get back to his dad, somehow. Hell, she could be another one of his dad's tests. "All right."

When they get to the room, she looks at him through lowered lashes. Oh, right; she expects him to make the first move. He kisses her and she presses against him, all soft curves and sweet compliance.

For one brief moment, he is so tired that he almost calls the whole thing off. He doesn't though, because he made this choice years ago. He reaches around and unzips her dress. Her skin is smooth and she smells like roses; he tells her she's beautiful.

Anna blushes at that and he feels like an absolute heel. "You're a little overdressed, Howard."

"I guess I am." His voice trembles a little and he knows she'll take it for arousal. He steps away from her and begins to undress.

Once naked, they crawl into bed, kissing and touching. Soon, she's wet and panting, but he's not even half-hard.

"Problem?" she asks, her voice a little sharp.

He laughs, self-consciously, and kisses her. "Too much champagne with dinner. But don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you." He ducks under the blankets and spreads her thighs. He's made a study of this; making women come with his mouth and his fingers.

He wrings out orgasm after orgasm from her, until she's tugging on his hair and asking him to stop. He slides up next to her and she wraps her arms around him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to try, Howard?"

"I’d only disappoint you," he says, smiling playfully.

"Oh, you could never disappoint me." She kisses his nose and smiles back.

They lounge in bed for another half an hour before he reminds her that he has an early morning. He drives her home, walks her to the door, and kisses her good night. She tells him to call her and he promises he will.

*****

His mother is waiting for him when he walks into the townhouse. Not for the first time, he thinks he should really get his own place.

Howard wishes it were his father. He would have slapped Howard on the back and made some teasing remark before heading off to bed.

"You're home later than usual," she says from her position on the couch.

"It was a good date." He shrugs and tries to sidle out of the room.

"Howard? Sit." And she's using that voice that brooks no argument.

He hates that voice, because it's the one that makes him comply without thought. It's the voice she uses when they have one of their serious talks. He slumps into a chair, trying to look relaxed.

"When are you going to stop doing this to yourself?"

He closes his eyes and fights back the sudden prickle of tears. "Doing what?"

"You're unhappy. It's obvious, you're unhappy."

"I'm perfectly fine." He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and smiles.

"Howard, it's never too late. You'll be more comfortable in Elite society. Happier." She reaches over and touches his arm.

"That's rich coming from you. You're the one who married a non-Elite, an outsider. I thought you'd be glad that I was following in your footsteps."

"Your father makes me happy."

He's a drunk who used to beat me until I blacked out, he wants to say. "I'm tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"Your father wants you to be happy, too."

That's such a blatant lie that he doesn't dignify it with a response. He gets to his feet. "Good night, Mother."

"Good night, sweetheart."

*****

At first, Howard thinks that Erskine is joking because there's no way that this scrawny kid can be their test subject; a stiff wind would knock him over. But it's no joke and he can't help but feel disappointed.

The kid catches Howard staring and smiles.

The kid, Steve, his mind supplies, has the bluest eyes he's ever seen. His face heats at the thought and Steve gives a little smirk, as if he knows exactly what's going on in Howard's head. Which is impossible. He stares down at the control panel and lays his hand against the cool metal.

God, he hopes Steve survives the process intact.

Steve, in fact, does more than survive.

When the capsule opens, the room goes silent. Steve is the most beautiful person Howard has ever seen. The need and heat that flares up in his body leaves him momentarily breathless. He tells himself that this is all right, that it's a normal human reaction to perfection. Everyone else is staring, too.

He moves without conscious thought to help Steve out of the capsule. He can't help himself, he lays a hand against Steve's taut sweat-slicked belly and fights the urge to drag his tongue against that perfect skin. He wants to taste, he wants to feel that muscled body against his and let Steve do whatever he wants. He bites his lip to stifle a moan and tries to angle his body so that no one can see how hard he is.

God, oh, God, he should pull away. He should... he needs to...

Steve looks into his eyes and every thought vanishes from his head leaving behind the horrible ache between his legs. "Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I think you can let me go now."

Oh. Right. His face heats with embarrassment and his cock twitches. He steps back, letting his hand drag across Steve's stomach, feeling the muscles tense against his palm.

He wishes he was wearing his lab coat, so he could hide the bulge in his pants.

Steve frowns at him and opens his mouth; panic wells up and Howard feels sick. Then Peggy steps forward. Thank God for Peggy because she catches Steve's attention and Howard is able to stumble away.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He's in charge of his body, not the other way around. God, he hasn't had this strong of a reaction to another person since he was fourteen and his mother thought hiring a professional Dom might change his mind about living outside of society.

Howard just manages to get himself under control when shots ring out and his heart is racing again. He's shoved to the ground face first and shielded from the bullets by a heavily muscled body. Steve, he knows it's Steve. His erection surges to life, but it's only because of the adrenaline rush. It's a natural response; Steve's hard too. Steve's hard all over.

He tries to shy away from that thought, then thinks, why not? He's going to die, they're all going to die.

Steve's hard and he's hard and this is what it would feel like to have a man against him: hard and demanding and insistent. He muffles a moan against his forearm and Steve whispers hot in his ear, "Are you all right, Mr. Stark."

The sound of gunfire is gone and it's not all right, but he nods anyway. Steve pulls away and he hears someone say, "Doctor Erskine." Just by the tone he knows the doctor is dead. He closes his eyes, shaken, ashamed.

When he finally opens his eyes and sits up, Steve has run off after the assassin.

*****

It's late when he gets home, too late for anyone to be up waiting for him. He's glad about that; he's too bone-weary for a heart to heart. It feels as if everything he's worked so hard for has turned to ashes. He goes to his room and locks the door behind him. He considers taking a shower, then thinks about just crawling into bed. But neither idea appeals to him; he still has too much leftover adrenaline running through him.

Howard knows what he really wants. He shivers at the thought and lets out a deep, trembling breath. He undresses quickly, then takes out the bottle of oil from his nightstand. His hands shake as he retrieves the lock box from under his bed. He keeps the key on a chain around his neck; he takes it off and opens the lock box. He reaches in and takes out the dildo; his cock hardens.

He rarely uses it, maybe only once or twice a year, and only when he really needs it. Like today.

Howard sets aside the box and kneels on the bed, the dildo in his hands. He closes his eyes and rubs his fingers across the rubber. Normally, he keeps his mind as clear of fantasies as possible, but tonight, oh, tonight he can't help himself.

Steve, he's touching Steve.

He moans softly and rubs his palm along the tip, imagining Steve's answering moan. Imagining Steve's hands running through his hair and down his chest. _That's right, Howard, get me hard. Get me as hard as you are._

"Yes, sir," he whispers, knowing that would please Steve.

He would smile and press a soft kiss to Howard's mouth. _Such an obedient boy._

Howard's breath hitches in his throat and he rocks his hips.

 _That's enough. Now open yourself for me, Howard. Get yourself loose and slick for my cock._

He drops the dildo on the bed and picks up the oil with shaking hands. He opens it and pours the oil onto his fingers. He doesn't care that it's dripping down his arm onto the blanket. He doesn't care that he's leaving evidence for his father to find. He shuffles forward on his knees so that he can brace himself against the headboard with one hand. With the other, he reaches back and circles his hole, teasing it with his fingertip.

He wants to give Steve a good show. He wants to show Steve that he wants it, wants him.

Howard presses the tip of his finger against his hole and pushes back, breaching himself with a low moan.

 _My Howard._

He shudders and shoves in a second finger. "Yours, sir" he says, fucking himself, his body moving, little gasps escaping from his mouth counterpointing the slick-wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of his hole.

Steve would touch him then, rub big, blunt fingers against the back of his neck, and murmur soft words of encouragement. Steve would make Howard fuck himself until he was desperate, close. Then Steve would push away Howard's hand.

 _You're wet enough now._ And he'd test Howard's hole with his fingers. _Slick my cock. Hurry._

Howard pulls out his fingers with a wet pop and grabs the bottle of oil. He pours it over the dildo and rubs it all over until it's glistening.

He settles on his stomach, a pillow under his hips, and bears down while he pushes it in slowly. "Sir, " he says, panting. He's out of practice and it hurts a little, but not enough to stop.

When it's in, he gives himself a moment to adjust, he gives himself a moment to just enjoy the feel of being stretched and filled. It's so good. God, it's perfect.

Almost perfect.

He reaches back, grabs the base and slowly begins to slide it in and out. Just tiny motions at first, letting his pleasure build, then increasing the motion until he's fucking himself with it.

No, no, until *Steve* is fucking him. He stifles his moans against his arm, and rubs himself against the pillow underneath him.

Steve would love him like this, he thinks. Steve would love how needy Howard is, how wanton.

Steve would fuck Howard all night so that the next morning he'd be sore, too sore to get out of bed. Too sore to fuck. Not that it would matter, because there would still be Howard's mouth.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck!" He cries out softly, grinding himself against the pillow as he comes. He slumps onto the bed, his muscles twitching from the aftermath of his orgasm. His eyes prickle with tears and he rubs them against his arm.

He slowly removes the dildo from his ass and curls into a ball. He closes his eyes; his fantasy isn't done.

Steve would kiss him now, stroke him, hold him, and tell him that everything was going to be all right.

Howard slowly gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He needs to clean up the evidence of his indiscretions before he can sleep.


End file.
